


To Take Heart

by Haicrescendo



Series: What We’re Given [7]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen, Ozai is a terrible father, Ozai’s A+ Parenting, Zuko is having a Really Bad Day, Zuko may not know what’s happening but he’s definitely gonna go murder his dad, Zuko’s no good very bad field trip to the fire nation, hallucinations are gr8, oops it’s definitely child abuse, or they would be if Zuko was actually hallucinating, the crew of the jasmine dragon is ride or die, the entire shitshow that is the eclipse, we stan one (1) uncle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24560689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: [Iroh looks awful.He’s definitely been crying and his face looks like it’s never known how to smile, and his whole posture is slumped over like he’s suddenly aged several decades. His eyes (gold, just like Zuko’s) are sharp, though, and filled with something hard and furious.“How could you have left him behind?” He drags out, voice rough and heavy and mad.]Or,What happens afterwards.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: What We’re Given [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537510
Comments: 596
Kudos: 6533
Collections: Finished111, Good_or_Decent_Zuko_With_a_dash_of_Iroh_Azula_Gaang, Zuko_angsty_and_cuddly





	To Take Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn’t originally gonna post this quite yet, because the next section isn’t finished, but fuck it. I was very mean and cliffed you guys, so here’s some resolution. Or lack of resolution. WHO KNOWS.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment and let me know! I always love hearing what people think of my stories. If you’d rather scream at me on tumblr, I can be found @sword-and-stars.

* * *

  
Zuko wakes up to pain that ricochets through his whole body. 

Confused and disoriented, all he can do for several long moments is curl in on himself on the floor, gripping his temples hard between his hands and gasping for air, too pained to even swear. He’s been drugged, he knows that much. His muscles won’t listen, won’t do anything but twitch and shake when he tries to drag himself to his feet. Shirshu?

Mai always was so good with her throwing knives.

The floor is so cold. His whole body is cold and some animal part of him recognizes that that’s _wrong_. 

Zuko is _screwed_.

“Really. You behaved with more dignity the last time you were on the ground in front of me.”

And Zuko’s animal brain screams in every kind of fear he knows because he knows that voice and it’s bad, bad, bad. He knows this place. He hasn’t seen it in three years, but everything inside him knows.

Zuko lifts his head, looks Fire Lord Ozai in the face, and snarls.

He’s ignored.

“And what of the Avatar?”

From somewhere behind him, Zuko hears the shifting of boots, sees his sister straighten up without even having to look at her.

“Dead,” she answers.

The flames simmering along the edges of the dais creep steadily higher, and if Zuko were more lucid or less furious, he might have warned her. As the situation is right now, helpless on the ground and almost certainly looking at his death, Azula can go fuck herself.

“Then where is the Avatar’s _body?_ ”

Azula’s horrified silence is almost louder than Zuko’s whisper quiet, borderline hysterical snickering from the floor.

“Told you so,” he says, because if he doesn’t, he’ll probably start crying. Bringing him home in chains won’t be enough to win Father’s favor (nothing ever really is, even when he gets exactly what he wants), but it’ll sure be enough to sign Zuko’s death warrant. Zuko’s done a lot of things in his life to avoid dying, and the fact that he _still_ ended up back here is like a horrible prophecy.

He should have just stayed home with Uncle and faced the breakfast crowd at Kyoshi.

Oh, this is going to break Uncle’s heart, Zuko thinks miserably. Because no one will keep this quiet. The Fire Lord will parade his body through the streets and tell tales of his worthless son, the traitor prince, until the whole world knows.

Until _Uncle_ knows.

The worst and last thing Ozai could do to his older brother.

Zuko’s laughter tapers off into the cold, cold quiet, and right into shivers instead.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Ozai asks, looming in judgement. Zuko hates it. “My grace for your spineless cowardice, my mercy at even giving you an option to prove yourself, that wasn’t enough for you? Please, speak and explain yourself. Let me hear those excuses.”

Zuko is so tired and so very afraid.

“ _Fuck off_ ,” he spits. “Your mercy? Please. It was always meant to be a death sentence.”

“And yet here you are, begging for death.”

Ozai kneels down and grips Zuko by the chin, tilts his head to the side and looks, consideringly, at the scar he’d left on his face so long ago. In another world, it could almost be gentle, until he digs his nails into skin and draws blood. Zuko hisses hard and twists, but his doped, sluggish body won’t do what he wants.

Zuko hadn’t thought he could be more afraid.

Zuko has thought _wrong._

“What should I do with you?” Ozai asks, and his voice is quiet, deceptively mild. “Perhaps I should send Iroh your head as a keepsake to remember you by.” Zuko flinches. “He tried so _hard_ to change my mind, you know. Letters on letters of pretty words, and then they _stopped._ ” His grip tightens again to squeeze Zuko’s blood out of his body and onto the floor. “Faithless traitor.”

The spike of rage lights Zuko’s insides on fire, and it’s with a roar that he spits flame, aiming for Ozai’s face but missing, _of course,_ and the fire licks his hands instead, leaving shiny red patches in their wake.

_Good_ , Zuko thinks, _let_ **_him_ ** _be the one to burn this time._

Behind him, Azula doesn’t breathe, and Zuko has only a split second to feel some satisfaction before Ozai backhands him hard, rings of gold and rubies cutting into his skin. The little strength Zuko has to hold himself up fails him and he drops like a rock.

“Let me make myself clear.” Ozai is back to looming. “The only reason you aren’t dead right now is that, perhaps, you can be useful. For once. You haven’t been yet burnt off the family tapestry.” He leans down once more, yellow eyes glittering coldly in his face. “I am a merciful man, even to those unworthy of the sparks they’ve been blessed with.”

Zuko shivers, and he’s not sure if it’s the drugs in his system, fear, or fury.

“You fancy yourself a man of action now, I suppose. You always _did_ like to play the hero.” Ozai smirks. “I think I prefer you helpless instead.”

He reaches out a hand and grips Zuko by the hair, yanks his head up and back to look him in the eyes.

“You must think me a fool. I know you and your dirt-loving uncle have a base somewhere.” He gives Zuko another brutal yank and lets him drop once again. “Mark my words, boy. Once I’m done with you, I’m going to find it and every last one of your traitor crew, and I’m going to burn them to the ground.”

* * *

The dungeons under the palace somehow manage to be cold, despite their proximity to a volcano.

When Zuko’s finally thrown into a cell, he’s dazed and bleeding and can hardly tell which way is up. For the first time in his life he cannot properly feel the sun. The panic crawls under his skin with nowhere to go, even as he slams himself like an animal against the door, the walls, anything he can.

Nothing gives, of course.

And then Zuko finally leans against the wall and slides very slowly down, tucks his knees up to his chin and buries his face in his arms and tries to stop shaking.

If he wants to escape, he has to be _calm_ despite his mind’s insistence on screaming instead.

He doesn’t have any other options.

* * *

Aang hasn’t stirred since Katara used her spirit water on him in Appa’s saddle.

Katara hasn’t done anything but cry since they landed, rough and frantic, to the deck of the Jasmine Dragon. She sits at Aang’s bedside now, doing what she can to heal his wound. The boy still doesn’t wake.

Toph is a quiet little ghost, occasionally scrubbing a hand across her face. She hasn’t said a word or offered any kind of explanation, just sits on the stool offered to her and keeps her head in her hands. She’d stopped screaming sometime after Sokka had finally been able to drag himself out of the depths of unconsciousness.

Sokka hasn’t seen Uncle at all since they got Aang set up in bed.

Because Sokka’s the only one who knows how to talk right now, he’s the one who has to tell the man that they couldn’t get Li— _Zuko_ out of there. Sokka had to look the Fire Lord’s _older brother_ in the face and tell him that they left his nephew behind.

The man had gone milk pale and staggered like he’d been hit. 

And then he’d left and hasn’t been seen since.

Every so often one of the servers— the crew, Sokka reminds himself, Fire Nation military, pops a head in the door to see if they need anything. Every time, Sokka tells them no.

What they need is for Aang to wake up. 

What they need is to go back in time and make it so that the last twelve hours don’t happen.

The door opens again and Sokka opens his mouth to give another _thanks but no thanks,_ and then closes it.

Iroh looks _awful_.

He’s definitely been crying and his face looks like it’s never known how to smile. His whole posture is slumped over like he’s suddenly aged several decades. His eyes (gold, just like Zuko’s) are sharp, though, and filled with something hard and furious.

“How could you have left him behind?” He drags out, voice rough and heavy and _mad._

“We didn’t want to!” Sokka protests. “We didn’t even know he was coming! He was the one who bought us the time to get out. If Azula hadn’t shot Aang—“

“She was able to shoot him because you don’t _listen,_ ” Iroh snaps right back. And that’s not even fair, because Sokka was unconscious until they were halfway to the ship, but being yelled at always makes him defensive and the words fly out of him before he can stop them.

“ _Who_ doesn’t listen? Maybe _Zuko_ should have just stayed here instead!”

Sokka knows that it’s a mistake the moment the words are out of his mouth and wishes he could take them back, because Iroh’s first reaction isn’t rage, but _pain_. He flinches as if he’s been hit, and then straightens, fixing Sokka with a stare that shakes him down to his bones.

“Do you have any idea what they’re going to do to that boy, who risked his life to save your friend?”

Sokka doesn’t breathe.

Iroh doesn’t raise his voice above a whisper; he doesn’t have to.

“Ozai is going to kill him. Or he’ll let the princess take her shot just like she’s always wanted. But not right away. They'll make him wish for execution first. Perhaps he will be led through the streets and lashed for treason, because that is the sin he committed for helping you. For even speaking to you without following his orders. I might receive a piece of him, perhaps, just to make sure that I know. Ozai might, if he’s feeling particularly dramatic, gather the nobles in the caldera and reenact the Agni Kai that got him banished in the first place. And _everyone_ will know that to the very end, Prince Zuko was cowardly and disloyal to his family _and_ to his country.”

Sokka wants to throw himself over the edge of the teashop, but can’t seem to find the strength to move.

“B-but...they’re _family._ ” Katara speaks for the first time, looking lost and frightened, like her world has just been turned upside down. Sokka knows how she feels. “Family doesn’t… _do_ that.”

“It won’t matter,” Iroh says. His voice is still scary and hard. “Banished means _banished_. Banishment might not erase him from succession but it won’t keep him alive. Not in the caldera. That scar? One person in the world has the authority to put a mark like that on him. Just one. And you _let them take him right back to him_.”

Iroh might have kept going, except for the scrape of wood across the floor and the sound of a sob as Toph bursts into loud, noisy tears.

Toph flings herself off of her stool and bodily crashes into Iroh, digging her fingers into his robes.

“I’m _sorry,_ _I’m so sorry,”_ she wails into his chest. Despite Iroh’s anger, he’s caught her instinctively. “It’s my fault. I was with him, when everything started going down! I found him in the city, a-and we went together to go f-find Appa. I was the one who lost him! I didn’t wanna leave Sparky behind! We split up when we heard the explosions going off, and maybe if we hadn’t separated, maybe…” 

The fury drains out of Uncle like water down a sink. He sags and gentles, wraps his arms around Toph and gathers her close to hold her until she can breathe again.

Even when she can, she shakes in his grip.

(What Toph can’t say, because if she does she’ll start crying again, is that she knows that Sparky knew what was going to happen to him. The way he’d stopped fighting, very briefly, as they left, and then proceeded to make himself super distracting. Toph may be blind but this is something that she knows. Zuko _knew_ , and she can’t say that to anyone.)

“Oh, child, I’m sorry,” he rasps, “This is not your fault.” Iroh steadies and looks over Katara, sniffling quietly over Aang’s motionless form and Sokka, who feels like he’s been frozen. “This is not your fault either. I am...I apologize, I am _compromised._ ”

Sokka’s still scared to absolute shit but he’s probably not going to die tonight, at least.

“We...we have a plan,” he says finally. Toph, quiet now, extracts herself from Iroh’s hold but stands next to him, hand holding tightly onto his sleeve. “For the eclipse. We’re going to go to the Fire Nation and we’re going to defeat the Fire Lord.”

“And _who_ is going to defeat my brother?”

Sokka glares.

“Me, if I have to. Whatever it takes. But I have hope that Aang’s going to wake up and be okay. He just...needs some time. Can we take that time here?” Sokka doesn’t want to be where he’s not wanted, but this is probably the safest place Aang could possibly be to recover from his injuries. And, despite it all, he’s pretty sure that being made won’t stop Iroh from helping them. 

Sokka doesn’t want to even think about it, doesn’t want to give it hope in case it doesn’t work, but maybe if they pull the rabbiroo out of the right hat, they can rescue Zuko, too.

“You have our hospitality,” Iroh says finally. 

Toph tugs at his sleeve.

“Can you do me a favor?” She asks, so quiet and unlike herself that Sokka’s stomach twists.

“What can I do for you?”

“Sparky told me that you make the best jasmine tea he’s ever had. Can you brew some for me? I...we made a _deal._ Before. I _promised._ ”

Uncle drags in a hard, raggedy breath but when he looks up, the despair on his face has been replaced with resolve. He rubs a hand over Toph’s hair.

“Zuko hates floral teas.”

“He likes yours, though.”

Sokka really, really hopes that his friend doesn’t make the poor man cry.

Toph sniffles a little more into her teacup but it’s still the best Sokka’s ever tasted.

* * *

The children on the middle floor are sleeping or pretending very well to be. 

The Avatar is still unconscious.

Iroh has a move to make.

He looks over the crowd of people standing, tense and anxious, in a large storage room in the lower deck. No one jokes, no one smiles, no one snacks.

“By now you all will have known. While defending the Avatar, Prince Zuko was taken by Princess Azula, almost certainly back to the Fire Nation to be dealt with by the Fire Lord. You all understand why this is unacceptable.”

There’s a low, angry rumble of agreement.

“You have been with us for three years. You have been loyal and true and followed us into the darkness and unknown, over and over again. For that, I am honored, and I know that Prince Zuko is as well.” 

Iroh’s voice goes low and sharp.

“But now it’s time to put up or shut up. The Avatar’s group plans on launching an attack on Ozai on the Day Of Black Sun. As Fire Nation citizens, we all know that any plan set in motion on the eclipse will not succeed. Not if they want to get to Ozai. But that is not _our_ plan.

We will also be infiltrating the Fire Nation on the day of eclipse, but our goal will be to extract Prince Zuko instead. I will not demand you come with me; this is a volunteer basis only. If you wish to decline, please feel free to leave the room.”

Nobody moves, not a single soul.

“Shit, the kid’s stuck in that hellhole?” Somebody mutters. “We can’t leave him there.”

“Prince Zuko has never shied away from doing what’s hard or doing what’s right,” Jee speaks up from Iroh’s left. “It’s only right that we do the same for him. And if I happen to get to punch the Fire Lord in the process, that would only be a bonus.”

There’s more, louder and rowdier agreement with that.

“Someone needs to write the island,” someone pipes up, “If Teruko finds out we did this without her, we’re all fuckin’ dead in the water.”

Iroh looks over his nephew’s crew and very firmly does _not_ tear up. He doesn’t let his throat get tight and he doesn’t allow the heat behind his eyes to burn. 

He does, however, look over the men and women who’ve managed to give Zuko all of their hearts, and lets himself _hope._

* * *

There had been a time, once, where Zuko had thought that being banished had been the worst thing to happen to him.

Zuko would like to go back in time and shake his younger self, because he has _no idea_.

Zuko feels like he is about to lose his spirits-damned mind. Maybe he already has. He’s lost track of time without the sun to regulate his sleep schedule. Faceless guards bring meals (if one could call them that) but there doesn’t seem to be a schedule to it. Sometimes it feels like food comes every hour, sometimes it feels like two days. Sometimes it feels like it’ll never come again, even though it’s spoiled most of the time and so bad that Zuko can’t keep it down.

Sometimes, he stops eating and those same nameless, faceless guards come and hold him down for it, and at first he fights and shrieks like some wild thing until his brain shoves itself right out of his body and floats away until it’s all over. When he comes back to, he always hurts and there’s always a few more bruises and scrapes and handprints on his body. This happens more and more often as time goes by but he doesn’t have it in him to care about it.

Zuko sleeps, sometimes, in increments that he cannot track or regulate except by way of scratching a mark into the wall with a loose rock. They make no sense to anyone, not even him, but it’s something that he can control.

He’s not always alone, but when he’s not he wishes that he was.

Azula finds his entire situation hilarious, because of course she does. Every so often she pops down to see him, settles herself down on the ground by his cell, and gives a detailed report of the state of the world. Zuko ignores her when she talks but can’t help listening, even when all he wants to do is scream about it.

Maybe next time, she’ll show up during mealtime and he can vomit on her.

“The eclipse is coming up and they think they stand a chance,” she says brightly, “Those idiots think we’re _stupid._ ”

Spirits, if Zuko had known that _that_ was their plan, he’d have burst into Kuei’s palace himself to warn them, Dai Li or no Dai Li. To assume that an entire country of people whose bending relies on the sun wouldn’t take every measure of protection during the one thing that could take it away...it’s not the smartest plan.

Zuko snorts a little before he can pull it back. Azula hears it and perks up.

“So you _are_ alive in there,” she muses. “I was beginning to wonder.”

“Do you think you could maybe just _shut up?_ For once? Please?” Zuko grumbles. “Go back and sit at Ozai’s feet and wait to be told what to do like the mole-hound you are.”

Azula snarls at him and blue flames lick the ground at his feet but don’t touch.

“You are _so_ lucky that for some reason, Father wants you to stay alive.”

Zuko turns away from her and says nothing.

The only luck Zuko’s ever had is _bad._

Azula leaves eventually, just like she always does, and Zuko lets himself drop his face into his hands. There had been a time, in between his fateful Agni Kai and the Western Air Temple that first time, that Zuko thought that he’d rather face the dungeons than banishment, that it was okay because at least he’d be closer to _home._ Zuko wants to go home, but home is not this palace.

Home isn’t even in the Fire Nation anymore.

Home is a decommissioned warship run by disrespectful military rejects. Home has his bed and a constant, gently rocking on the waves that helps him sleep. Home has Uncle’s sleepytime tea, and an island of endangered animals that rely on him that Zuko will never see again.

Home has _Uncle._

Zuko just wants to go home.

He hasn’t let himself think about it, not really, but he can’t help it now. He misses Uncle so much that it hurts, and when the sob wrenches itself out of him, all Zuko can do is cry hard into his own hands until he’s empty again.

He’s going to die down here, so far away from home.

* * *

Aang wakes up and recovers slowly aboard the Jasmine Dragon.

Eventually, when he’s well enough to travel, he and his friends leave in order to prepare for the day of the eclipse.

Iroh keeps his mouth shut, and makes plans of his own.

* * *

Sokka’s so damn stressed out about Dad getting downed by a tank that he almost doesn’t notice the lack of guards swarming the main courtyard leading to the palace. It should send off warning bells in his head but his war-focused, panicky lizard brain can only see it as a convenience on the way to getting what they need— Ozai’s head on a pike.

“Don’t you think it’s creepy that there’s nobody here?” Katara whispers as Aang bolts ahead. “That’s weird, right? After all the scuffle at the gates?”

The sun is beginning to slip behind shadow.

Sokka sees movement out of the corner of his eye, jerks to the side out of instinct, and freezes.

Someone in red armor cuts an imposing figure across the courtyard but makes no motion to attack. They turn and look at Sokka, and then they nod, shatter a window with a rock for no apparent reason, and then barrel through the doors of the palace without a word.

“Um,” Sokka begins. Stops and then tries again. “I have a feeling that Uncle may have, uh, made some plans he didn’t feel like sharing.”

They’ve kept up regular communication, and in Iroh’s last letter he wished them luck and little else. That hadn’t meant anything to him then.

It sure as hell means something now.

* * *

Zuko has officially _lost his shit_.

Well, actually, he thinks hysterically during those times where he manages to make his brain work, he’s past losing his shit. He’s so far past losing his shit that it’s almost like he’s found it again, and that just leads to thinking in circles until all Zuko wants to do is curl up into a ball and die.

He wants to do that a little bit anyway, except that his truce with the viper-rats only holds so far and he knows that the minute he’s dead, they’re going to eat him.

As it is, they try every so often anyway, and Zuko’s got the bites to prove it.

He hasn’t seen anyone in days. Or has it been hours? Years?

It feels like forever.

Azula stopped coming once he stopped being entertaining, and the guards who show up to force feed him...well, Zuko’s gotten used to not remembering.

It’s okay if it’s forever.

Maybe, Zuko thinks sometimes when his brain works properly, maybe he’s just already dead and doesn’t know it yet.

Suddenly there’s the echo of footsteps and a slamming of the door and people in armor coming through it. Zuko skitters backwards on instinct even though it goes against his truce with the viper-rats. He can’t fight, can’t ever fight, but he can at least give them a hard time about it.

One of them abruptly removes their faceplate and Zuko feels his heart fall out of his body.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

This is worse than any nightmare. Zuko doesn’t dream anymore but even when he did, his horrible brain has yet to do this to him. He cannot handle anything anymore but he definitely cannot handle seeing Uncle in full armor down here in hell with him.

He can’t do it.

“It’s not real,” he mumbles under his breath and presses himself up against the wall. “It’s not real. It’s not real.”

Not-Uncle comes closer, close enough to touch, and Zuko swings out with a fist that misses completely and throws off his balance enough that his vision swims. He’s disoriented enough that Not-Uncle is able to get _too close,_ and Zuko’s brain threatens to shut down entirely—

Not-Uncle grabs his shoulders and enfolds him into a hug, and wow, this is the most realistic and awful hallucination that Zuko’s ever had in his life. He lets himself enjoy it for just a second, because he’s weak as hell, and then starts struggling.

“Zuko, Zuko,” Not-Uncle says insistently, fervently, sounding so spirits-damned real that Zuko wants just start crying instead, “It’s okay, it’s me, it’s okay—“

Not-Uncle might be actual proof that Zuko’s finally cracked, but what isn’t a hallucination is that the door leading out of the dungeons is swinging open wide and Zuko may be crazy but he’s not an _idiot_ , and he goes limp, startling Not-Uncle enough that his grip shifts.

Zuko drops, palms down full to the ground and then, like someone who’s not an idiot, starts running for it.

He may not be getting out of here alive, but if he’s going to die, he’s taking Ozai with him.

* * *

Zuko bolts for the door and Iroh goes after him like a shot.

The boy’s not in his right mind and Uncle needs to _get him out of here_ , but Zuko’s survival instincts are both excellent and completely off base as he skirts Iroh’s attempts to catch him and seems fully intent on finding Ozai and murdering him with his bare hands.

Not that Iroh doesn’t understand the sentiment, but he knows that right here, right now, it’s futile.

Ozai _will_ live another day, unfortunately, but if Iroh doesn’t catch his nephew, Zuko might not.

The combination of fear and rage makes Zuko fast but Iroh’s own terror for his family makes him faster, and it’s with a sudden burst of speed that Iroh’s able to catch up and grab Zuko around the waist with both arms. He throws him over his shoulder and makes a run for the exit. Zuko’s screaming like he’s dying and fighting Iroh like a fox-leopard to get out of his grip. He’s too skinny and lighter than he needs to be and despite his struggles, it’s not that hard to hold onto him.

It’s been a while but Iroh still knows the palace like the back of his hand, knows all the secret passageways and all the hidden halls the servants use.

The one he needs leads out of the caldera without breaking the surface.

He just has to hold onto his kid.

* * *

This is it, this is _fucking it_ for him now.

Not-Uncle’s going to take him back to the cells under the keep and he’ll never get another chance—Zuko’s going to die a prisoner and a traitor and he’s never going to be able to tell Uncle that he’s sorry, he’s _so sorry_ for leaving him, for not being good enough. For never being strong enough to do what he needs to do.

He’s so sorry, because Uncle Iroh doesn’t deserve to lose anybody else.

He’s _so sorry._

Not-Uncle is a horrible, awful hallucination who takes Zuko’s screaming and sobbing as gently as he can while maintaining his tight, solid grip on him. Zuko’s brain is _broken_ , because he knows that it’s _wrong, wrong, wrong_. He’s never been lucky enough to get what he wants, and Zuko wants his uncle right now more than anything else in the world.

That’s how he knows this isn’t real.

Zuko’s head hurts and his heart hurts and he’d thought he was beyond feeling anything, but he was wrong about that too because all he can feel is pain.

Not-Uncle’s been joined by someone who looks like Teruko, but it can’t be because she’s where she’s supposed to be, with Mochi and Omurice. Spirits, Zuko wants to see them.

Not-Teruko says something to Not-Uncle that Zuko can’t hear or understand, and he gives one last attempt to free himself…

And fails.

And that’s the part where he gives up. Zuko stops fighting and stops struggling entirely, sagging over Not-Uncle’s shoulder and going limp like a boiled noodle. He might be crying a little, because his eyes are wet and burning and Zuko can’t breathe except in hard heaving gasps.

He wants to go home.

He just wants to go _home._

“I know, Prince Zuko,” Not-Uncle says. “I know you do. You’re going home.” His voice doesn’t sound right.

Maybe Zuko’s finally starting to see through it.

Zuko can’t do this anymore. The little drop of hope he doesn’t know how to kill feels like it’s burning him from the inside out and simultaneously being smothered by despair. He drops his head against Not-Uncle’s back and tries not to cry.

Like everything else, he fails at that too.

“Prince Zuko,” Not-Teruko says when Not-Uncle stops running. They aren’t alone—Zuko’s shattered brain’s somehow managed to conjure up what looks like the entire crew of the Jasmine Dragon, and it’s not _fair._ She steps closer and presses her hands to his cheeks. “You’re safe now, sir. We’ve got you.”

“I want to go _home._ ”

That’s all Zuko knows how to say. He hurts too much to pretend he has any pride left. What’s it matter, anyway?

He misses the ocean and he misses the sky.

Zuko doesn’t remember what the sun feels like anymore.

“Take heart, Prince Zuko,” Not-Teruko says firmly. “We’re taking you home.”

* * *

  
  
  



End file.
